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poem for dad

ceux-ci soient
juste en tant que mes doigts sur ces clefs
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
j'ai vu la première poire
il parle pas bien
enveloppez la terre par temps nuageux
dans l'obscurité et la paix de mon lit final
et ainsi elle va
soyez patient, la vie, quand l'amour est à la porte
vous entendez la pluie?

 



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